


his lips an unknowable altar (and the offerings i place at their threshold)

by YouDontRememberTheSomme



Category: 1917 - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-War, This is a sort of slow burn, additional tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouDontRememberTheSomme/pseuds/YouDontRememberTheSomme
Summary: Friedrich Baumer survives being strangled, meeting Schofield on the battlefield again - over a year later, in September 1918.
Relationships: William Schofield/Friedrich Baumer, William Schofield/Tom Blake (mentioned)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

It was the flash of blond hair that caught Sco’s attention. Just enough to stand out among the wreckage around him, just enough to make Will’s stride falter. 

His rifle was pointed toward it in an instant, unsure of what would meet him. 

He recognized that face. It was same one that had been inches from his own as he grappled with its owner in Écoust, a year before. 

Well over a year, if Will allowed himself to think of it. It had been April when Tom died, the same cherry blossoms he’d smiled over reminding him to continue his short journey. 

This face reminded him of Tom’s as he died - young and frightened. Very little separating them from boyhood. 

The blond was younger than Will remembered - not that he’d had much time to think of the German soldier in the year and a half since their brief meeting. 

There was no recognition in this man’s brown eyes, luckily for Will, but there was immeasurable fear. 

Schofield lowered his rifle.

Something like ferality lingered below the surface of those brown eyes, making Will a bit nervous - more than a bit, really. 

“I know you,” Will heard himself say. 

Rapid-fire German in response, none of it understandable to Will. 

The boy was wounded - he had no gun, at least none that Sco could see. He distantly remembered a knife the boy pulled on him and wisely stayed out of arm’s reach. 

“What’s your name?” Will asked. 

A blink. A beat of confusion.

“Will,” he said softly, tapping his chest. “My name is Will.”

The blond’s frown deepened and Sco was silently preparing to give up. 

“Baumer,” the young man said roughly, his voice heavily accented. “Friedrich Baumer.”

Schofield felt his face break into a smile - he could finally put a name to this face. 

“Friedrich,” Will repeated, looking him over. He had a wild look in his eyes, ferocity lying just below the nervousness. 

It made Will a bit anxious, choosing to stay farther away as he offered his canteen to the young man. 

He took it, but not without a bit of skepticism as he sniffed the open bottle. 

Baumer hesitated a moment, something stronger than apprehension but not quite as strong as fear lingering in his large brown eyes as he took a drink. 

A look of relief crossed the man’s face after a moment, having been unsure of whether or not to trust Will. 

Something flickered between the pair - a momentary truce amidst the chaos surrounding them. 

Whether that truce would last once Friedrich was well enough to put up a fight was yet to be seen, but Will stopped wondering if the German boy was going to put a knife in him as soon as he turned his back. 

At least there was that, Will supposed. 

Will paced, uncertain of what to do next. He couldn’t leave him there - he was wounded, what kind of man would Will be if he left a wounded boy there? - but the idea of bringing him back to the medic post was just as sacrilegious. 

Bringing an enemy soldier back as a prisoner was one thing, but to ask he be pardoned and healed and sent home? He had to be out of his mind to even consider the idea. 

Why in the world  _ was _ he considering it? This boy wasn’t Tom, who had never done a thing wrong in his life, never harmed anyone. 

This was someone who’d tried to kill him - who he’d tried to kill too, his brain ever-so-unhelpfully reminded. 

Maybe he was crazy. One had to be crazy to not shoot this boy on sight.

_ Boy. _

The word dragged itself to the forefront of Will’s mind. 

They really were boys, weren’t they? Caught in something so vast and out of their control, pawns in another’s game.

Will shut that thought away; he couldn’t think of this boy as innocent when he knew his enemy was anything but. 

It was ridiculous, really, to be allying himself with an enemy, but he found himself unable to resist it. 

The man really did remind him of Tom - his friend had had the same look of baffled fear as he’d bled out. 

Besides, Will trusted him now. A bit stupidly, but it was trust all the same. 

Baumer had broken his trust once - Will remembered that clearly, asking him to be silent and being betrayed when the boy called for help. 

He remembered being disappointed. 

Disappointed and a bit angry something else was going wrong on that dreadful evening, but also a bit disappointed in himself for believing Friedrich would stay quiet. 

Baumer has the sort of face that made Will think they might’ve been friends in another lifetime, in another place - he quickly tamps down the “maybe more” that flashes through his mind. 

Will watched him closely, lost in thought as the boy handed the canteen back. 

Not sure of what his next move should be, Will stepped closer. 

“You’re hurt,” he said suddenly, remembering why he’d been so quick to trust him. “Let me help.”

Baumer eyed him nervously, even when Will showed him the bandages. 

It was his shoulder, just deep enough to be bleeding heavily but shallow enough to not go worrying about another death. 

He’d seen too many of those. 

Friedrich trembled a bit as Will touched him, stiffening more when Sco’s hands brushed a bit too close to his neck. His eyes were large, untrusting. 

Will wondered if it was his fault. 

He felt a pang of something like remorse when he saw how closely Friedrich watched his hands. 

Had he been this nervous before the war, or was that Will’s doing?

Doubt surged through him, making Will pull away as soon as possible. 

Baumer didn’t recognize him, that much was clear, but he remembered what Will had done to him. A hard thing to forget, Schofield was sure of that much.

Will opened his mouth to speak, the words flooding over his tongue. 

“I’m sorry,” Will said softly. “I really didn’t think - I never thought of you after what happened. I thought you were dead.”

There was no understanding in Baumer’s eyes, just perplexed doubt. That was alright. Will just had to express that much, as much as it stung to say aloud. 

A vague thought crossed his mind, his consciousness seizing on it. 

_ How many men have to be saved to atone for ruining one? _

“Come with me,” Will said finally, offering a hand. 

Friedrich furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at him with confusion in his eyes. 

“Please,” Will softly continued. “Please come with me.”

It took a long moment - Sco held his breath, worried what the response would be - but Baumer took the offered hand, shakily standing up. 

It was only when he started walking toward the English medic station that Friedrich started to resist, not walking any farther. 

“No one will hurt you,” Will promised, giving Baumer what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You and me. You’re mine, alright?”

His distrust was palpable, Will would never try to deny that. He’d feel the same way if he was led to the German frontline.

But Baumer  _ followed _ . He trailed behind Will the entire way, an uncertain look on his face as Sco tried his best to explain. 

Will fumbled with his words, rambled on a bit too much, he wasn’t going to lie -  _ I found him, I didn’t know what to do, I want him to stay with me, I’ll keep an eye on him, he won’t be a threat _ \- afraid that they’d take Friedrich away. 

~*~

It was early November when the surrender happened. Will had only been in charge of Baumer for a few weeks, though god knew it felt like so much longer. 

Hostility bristled off the other soldiers, a spark just moments from being ignited. 

The surrender didn’t ease their nerves, didn’t lessen the sharp looks or stop the men who pushed past Baumer a bit too harshly. 

Will tried not to resent them, and resented them anyway. He knew as well as anyone that Friedrich - even with the English he’d picked up during his time there - would never say anything to try to put a stop to their actions. 

They both knew far too well that that would ramp them up, make them crueler. It wasn’t worth it.

Will learned to stay close to him after the first evening - a soldier from further up trench had “accidentally” ran into him, making him hit his head against the wall. It wasn’t a subtle warning to the German boy, especially not with the threat of a knife or bayonet being pulled on Friedrich when Will wasn’t around. 

Baumer stayed within arm’s reach of Will after his pack was stolen. It was returned - by who, he didn’t and figured he never would know - that night, his things picked through and his letters from home missing. 

That hurt him deeper than he cared to admit. 

Will had watched as Baumer took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he carefully reorganized his things. 

He wasn’t sure what to say to comfort him. 

~*~

It was on the train ride home that Will noticed Friedrich’s drawings. 

He’d just woken up, still bleary-eyed and a bit disoriented from his nap, not noticing at first how hard Baumer was studying him. 

“What time is it?” Will murmured, rubbing his eyes. “Was I out long?”

“No,” Friedrich murmured, shutting his notebook. “An hour.”

“Oh,” was all Will gave in response, his eyes drawn to the book in his hands. 

Baumer noticed, promptly turning to tuck it away into his bag. 

“You draw?” Will asked curiously. “Can I see it?”

“No,” came the flat reply. “No, sorry.”

Sco frowned but didn’t press further - this wasn’t his call to make, he could see that much. 

“Oh.”

“How did you sleep?” Friedrich quietly changed the subject. 

“Fine,” Will murmured, his eyes glued to Baumer’s face. “Did anyone say anything to you while I was asleep?”

The blond’s mouth dropped open, ready to say no, but he hesitated. “Nothing bad,” he finally said. 

“What  _ did _ they say?”

“It is obvious,” he murmured. “That I’m not English.”

Will went quiet. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters when you’re German and not French or anything else.”

“What was your family like?” Will changed the subject. 

Silence and large dark eyes peering at him, filled with a heavy dose of wary skepticism.

“I remembered your letters-“ 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Friedrich said firmly. 

“There’s always something.”

“Not this time. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you ever do-“

“I won’t.”

Will went quiet, not pushing the subject further. “Okay.”

The blond nodded once, just a tilt of his head in acknowledgement. 

A long silence fell over them, the two men just quietly looking at each other with so many words unspoken. 

“I- we’re here,” Will finally said, making no move to get up. The fear that flashed across Friedrich’s face was deterrent enough to keep him from budging.

“You’ll be safe here,” Sco softly assured him. “I’ll be with you the whole way.”

Baumer’s expression shifted - not quite trust, but willingness. That was enough for Will, for now. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short update for now, haven’t been v motivated to write or edit but!! I really like this part.

Friedrich slept on the couch the first night at their apartment - at least for a while. Will wasn’t sure when he’d moved, just that he woke up and the blond was on the other side of his bed, his fingertips brushing the sleeve of Will’s shirt. 

Part of him was startled, part of him wasn’t even confused, barely batting an eye. They’d slept within arm’s reach of each other for weeks while arrangements were made and soldiers were sent home. 

Will didn’t move closer, but didn’t pull away either, content with the knowledge that he was close by and sleeping peacefully - as peacefully as a soldier could sleep, anyway. 

When he woke up, there was no sign that the boy had been there, not even ruffled sheets to betray the fact that someone had laid there. 

Will never brought it up. Didn’t bring up the blond’s habit of staring either - something he was just as guilty of doing. 

Sometimes Will wasn’t content to leave it to staring, but never dared make the first move. He’d caused too much pain with those hands of his to dare try to touch someone he wanted so badly to fix. 

Touch could come later, when Friedrich initiated it. 

~*~

He found Friedrich’s art by accident - at least, that’s what he’d assumed. 

He rarely made a point of entering the boy’s room, only once in a blue moon crossing the threshold, and that was if he was invited, but that chilly March morning was different. The pages were strewn across the bed while Friedrich shaded, in one of his particular fits of artistic inspiration. He was drawn to those scattered papers the way a stray bit of metal is compelled toward a magnet, only daring to take a look when Friedrich made no move to cover them. 

“Can I see?” he asked anyway, hoping he wasn’t overstepping. 

A faint, distracted nod, one that filled Will with a bit of hope. 

He stepped toward the bed, surveying the strewn pages and admiring each of them. 

A few were of him - oblivious or dozing or staring so much more intensely than he thought he was capable of. Others were places - a home, a school building, a few easily recognizable as Écoust. 

The last twisted his stomach, but he looked anyway. He wanted to uncover each corner of Friedrich’s mind, the good and the bad and the traumatic and the twisted. He wanted so badly to scrawl his name on the sketchbook pages of Baumer’s soul, leaving none of the pain and all the broad strokes of his signature. 

One page caught his attention - a boy, a girl, a mother and father - and almost made him ask questions. 

But he knew better, given how Friedrich tended to deflect questions about his home or family.

“You’re a wonderful artist,” Will said quietly, watching Baumer draw. 

Friedrich gave him a nod of acknowledgement, not saying a word. 

Will dared a question, reaching out to tap the corner of a page. “Me?”

“I draw beauty,” Friedrich mumbled, his voice low and distracted. 

“There should be more self portraits, then,” Will tried to joke, his mouth going dry. 

Friedrich looked up at him, a slight frown on his face. “No. Just you.”

Will hesitated, the question on the tip of his tongue -  _ can I kiss you? _ \- not quite able to make its way out. 


End file.
